The Klitchko War: Battle for New Chicago
by Klitchko
Summary: Follow the story of a young British soldier in the distant future as he struggles with himself to gain courage and leadership during the Klitchko War. INSPIRED by Halo
1. Prologue

**Author's Note: **_Many readers have commented that they are slightly confused about the Klitchko storyline. Well, here's my answer to you curious fans. These small excerpts were written some while ago in order for me to get an idea of the universe I was creating. Be warned, that many of these excerpts are raw and crude. They have not been edited much for content since I want the reader to get a sense of the universe._

_Thank you for all the reviews and I hope you guys enjoy the story._

**Catalyst **

Start Transmission/ channel / 9634

Good evening ladies and gentlemen of the UWD. Today is the third date of the 36th divide in the year 2678. In news, the prime minister of US sector 101 was assassinated today while he was being escorted to the annual US congregation held in New York. This has been the fifth assassination of a prime minister this year in the US alone. Many top officials are tightening their own security so as not to be the next victim. The FBI have linked all five of these murders to the soviet radicals currently in control of US sectors 296, 297, and 298. On a lighter note the _static…_ Sorry for that folks, but we have breaking news. The US sectors 299 and 300 are under attack by the Soviet radicals! It seems that the leader, Joseph Klitchko has launched a ground assault upon Las Vegas and Arizona. The Soviets who are more widely know by the name of Klitchko, have been in control of much of western US for more than three years. As many already know, they attacked in an attempt to gain ion resources that are crucial in the production of plasma. The US government was able to appease Klitchko and his army by granting them three sectors in return for a peace treaty. However, now that the treaty is broken, the US are preparing for a full scale counter attack. Channel 9634 will keep you posted on this…

End Transmission / channel / 9634

**Klitchko**

_Excerpt from a British military periodical_

The Klitchko is an organization of Soviet rebels bent on bringing back the old Soviet empire that existed some 700 years ago. Headquartered in eastern Russia, the Klitchko organization has gathered many followers from the former Soviet nations in their radical vision of reunification. Not only visionaries, these Eastern Europeans are extremely dangerous as well, using brute force whenever necessary. Led by the fearless general Joseph Klitchko, the army of pale green is always a sore sight for enemies. These fighting men shoulder some heavy weaponry which includes an array of parasitic projectiles which eat away at organic flesh, causing the helpless victim to bleed rather than die quickly. Each Klitchko has such a fierce mentality that many could deem this cult a communistic religion. Aside from their obsession of unifying eastern Europe, it is unclear whether or not they have other bellicose intentions and much is still unknown of their structure.

**Technology and Advancements**

After the boom of the 20th century, technological advancements and the economy had slowed down dramatically. For the next several centuries, research and development companies took a back seat to national security and other militant issues. As a result, there were few breakthroughs in medical or astrological science. However, because of the world's concern regarding security, weapons and defense mechanisms were vastly improved upon. In about the 25th century, ion, an extremely heat resistant metal was found deep beneath the Earth. Through ion, matter was able to be heated to blistering temperatures to form plasma. Later, plasma was used in bullets which made them lighter and stronger. While this happened in the West, eastern countries had invented their own way of ending human life. The discovery of ion had produced much curiosity as to what else this precious metal could be used for. Soon after, a Ukrainian weapons developer by the name of Leimen Rogatchekv invented an ionic bullet that not only pierced through flesh efficiently, but also attached itself into the victim, causing large amounts of damage to veins and tissue. This answer to the American plasma bullet was dubbed the parasite, for its behavior when fired at a victim.

Advancements in computer technology leaped as well due to the increased demand in military capabilities. Shortly before the discovery of ion, American defense contractors had developed the holographic HUD (heads up display). This allowed for the common soldier to receive battle plans, video feeds, audio feeds, and visual indicators without carrying much equipment. Other minor breakthroughs in military have been prominent in the army's arsenal.


	2. View From the Heavens

Battle for New Chicago / Chapter 1

A/N: Chapter 1 is here and Chapter 2 is almost done but lately school has gotten the most of me. Hope you enjoy and please R&R!

The Queen Mary XVI's large horns blew a tremendous farewell as it began its voyage to the US. On board the behemoth, thousands of British troops said their own farewells to the mass of parents, children and wives on the docks. After their relatives had disappeared behind the horizon, the soldiers began their duties. All were eager to arrive in the US and pump lead into the Klitchko, all but one. The young boy lay on his bed in the tightly crammed cabins. He had not signed up for this. He never even wanted to go to the US.

"Get your ass up here Private Saunders! Don't think you can escape your duties." The young boy immediately sat up, bumping his head onto the frame of the bed.

"Be right up there sir!" Saunders replied. The life of a soldier was harsh and Saunders couldn't wait until his discharge in two years. But for now, he had to endure the hardship, for Mum and little Jane.

Over the course of the next week, the soldiers prepared for the battle that was to determine their fates.

The Queen Mary XVI had docked in New York while the United Infantry Division was preparing to disembark. The morning was sunny but crisp and Private Saunders was witnessing the beauty of a metropolis. The freshly fallen snow had cast an angelic feel to the towering skyscrapers, making them seem as if they were the very pillars of heaven. Below him, he saw hustle and bustle of a real city. Hundreds of civilians were walking the streets, completely unaware that Klitchko was planning to strike only 600 miles away. Saunders longed to keep the image in his mind as he closed his blue eyes and tried to imprint it into his head.

When he was sure that he had remembered every detail of the sight, he began to lug his pack off the ramp and into the giant warehouse. The atmosphere inside was drastically different. There was never a moment of silence or serenity as important officers and absent-minded soldiers trooped around the hanger-like building. All of a sudden, there was a hushed silence and the general began to speak.

"Soldiers of the United Infantry Division, today we prepare for the most crucial battle to ever take place on this planet. We will meet Klitchko and his troops head-on and with no hesitation," Saunders however, knew all too well that General Simpson was trying to raise his army's morale. Ever since Private Timothy Saunders was six years old, he had known about the Klitchkos. They were a ruthless radical group determined to revive the old Soviet Union. He had remembered the day when the Klitchkos attacked the US and killed his father. Yet, he never really remembered how the United British Empire got into the mess. "Our battle plans have been perfected and our soldiers have been expertly trained. Tomorrow at 0600 hours we board the victory planes to New Chicago!" Saunders silently scoffed. There was no way "perfected" battle tactics and "expertly" trained soldiers would stand a chance against Klitchko. It wasn't a secret that the Klitchkos were skilled fighters who took no prisoners. Anyone who enlisted was signing his life away. Simpson knew this, but he could not reveal it to his troops. They needed all the morale they could muster.

After the speech, many disheartened soldiers went to their corners of the giant warehouse to discuss their impending doom. Saunders had also silently walked towards his bags. He opened a large duffle bag to reveal his standard issue rifle. Throughout the years military specialists in the UBE were able to convert the M4 colt carbine into the most versatile weapon capable of piercing armor yet accurate enough to become a sniper rifle. This however, was not Saunders' weapon of choice. He quickly zipped the duffle bag up and withdrew a small and light case. Carefully he opened the gold cover and took out his most dangerous and most cherished weapon. Immediately, he grabbed a piece of paper from his diary and began to write. With the pen, Tim was able to defeat the most dangerous enemy and conquer the highest peak:

_Dear Momma,_

_Even as I write to you, my heart sinks like the legendary Titanic. You and I both knew that this battle was going to be a losing one, but I still cannot stop the fear, the fear that is crawling ever so slowly; slowly but surely towards me. I write to you at the eleventh hour to plead for forgiveness, for I cannot be the man that my father was. As hard as I try, it was just not meant to be. This is goodbye._

_I love you,_

_Tim_

The letter was short but he knew that his mother would find a thousand meanings from it. Regrettably, Tim folded the letter and carefully placed it into a white envelope. He then nimbly picked off a strand of his brown untamed hair and placed it also into the envelope. While he waited for the mailman to come around, Saunders began to hum a tune that he had learned while he was only a little boy. Suddenly, he was reminded of the peaceful years before Klitchko came to power. Tears began to stream down his eyes and he was filled with a sense of rage and anger. But just as quickly as it had come, his anger diminished and he was sorrowful once again. Soon after his song had ended, the mail man came to him.

"Got a letter, Saunders?" The mailman inquired.

"Yea, it's for my mom." The mailman looked into Saunders' eyes and knew that the boy was scared

"Don't worry kid, I guarantee you that this letter will make it back to your momma. And kid, don't be so down. I know this battle is gonna be a tough one but I have a feeling. You'll come out alive kid, just you wait." With that, the mailman left to pick up mail from the next soldier. Tim thought hard about the possibility of him living after the battle, but no matter which way he approached it, it seemed as if he was going to die one way or the other. It would take a miracle to get him out of there alive and he thought nothing more of it.

A loud horn bellowed in the warehouse to signal departure. Saunders, who had been enthralled in a nightmare, was glad to be woken up. The soldiers had no time to clean themselves up as they grabbed all of their belongings and met at the center of the warehouse.

"Soldiers, this is the calm before the storm. There will be no looking back because the only thing ahead of us is victory. We will board the transport crafts by squadrons and it will be approximately one hour from here to New Chicago. So lets get over there and GIVE EM HELL!" As soon as the speech ended, the petty officers in charge of each squadron began to call out orders. "161st ground this way!" and "53rd paratroopers!" Tim followed the 7th ground squadron to the transport ships that had been recently parked at the far side of the warehouse.

"These Chinook Type-2s kick some major ass! These babies can maneuver into and out of any crack on the planet and they've got twin barrel machine guns for suppressive fire," an excited marine explained to Tim. However, he was not reassured one bit. The Chinook could have nukes strapped to it and Saunders would still feel vulnerable.

Inside the transport craft, Tim felt cramped and claustrophobic. The interior was packed with weapons and ammunition for the coming battle, but almost no room for the very soldiers that were going to fight it. As the Chinooks took off, the privates began to get roused about the fighting. Saunders thought this disturbing, for he could never kill someone and laugh about it. When the Chinook had exited the warehouse with ease, Saunders eagerly stared out of the small window where he was able to see the beautiful landscape of New York for the last time in his life. The magnificent scene had quickly faded into barren wastelands of snow and Tim was back to dreading the fight. The flight to New Chicago seemed to take eternity as the anticipation and fear began to accumulate, but they eventually arrived. The Chinooks once again, maneuvered into an even larger warehouse and the soldiers disembarked rapidly.

Far form the soldier's hearing range, the top officials gathered in a conference room overlooking the entire warehouse.

"This doesn't look good, Simpson. Klitchko and his army are advancing with amazing speed. They have already taken St. Louis and are advancing northeast," General Murphy of the United States Army sighed. The general, at age 52 wore a standard army haircut with a perfectly ironed uniform.

"I never said this was going to be an easy battle. Our only advantage now is New Chicago. We have to bait them in here and surround them," Simpson explained.

"But they already know we're here. Klitchko won't be stupid enough to walk right in here with his troops."

"That is taken care of. We evacuate most of New Chicago and post our troops just outside the eastern walls. When the Klitchkos come from the south, they will suspect that most of us are inside the city. Four platoons will remain inside the city as snipers and riflemen. When Klitchko's army sees the little resistance, they will march into the city and easily defeat the distraction. Meanwhile, the majority of the forces will wait until every Soviet soldier has passed into the city before they either scale the walls or block the southern entrance,"

"Sounds like a plan but the troops attacking from inside the city will surely die. That is complete suicide!"

"Desperate fights call for desperate measures. I'll send two of my platoons and you send two of yours." Simpson's words were dished out with much burden. He would have to sacrifice 80 men to make this plan work.

During the next morning, all of the troops were being briefed and Simpson was to pick his suicide team. After a whole night without sleep, the weary commander had made up his mind.


	3. The Calm Before the Storm

The Klitchko War: Battle for New Chicago Chapter 2

A/N: Here's a short filler before the action. I want the stage to be set so I'm sorry if I disappointed you with such a short chapter.

"Dammit, I don't believe this! How could he just send us in there like that?" the soldiers of the 7th ground squadron were in dismay as their commanding officer reported the news. The 7th ground along with seven other squadrons would be stationed inside the walls of New Chicago while the rest of the army was to fight outside of the walls. Saunders could hear his comrades cursing and denouncing the general for being so foolish, but Saunders knew the plan. Unlike the other soldiers who complained about not getting any military action, Saunders was dreading something else, something far worse than not fighting.

Ever since Timothy entered school, his teachers had been praising him for having such a quick mind and being able to think of alternate possibilities for every situation. In fact, when he enrolled into the military, he could have been a commander if not for his cowardice and unwillingness to lead. Now, his mind would be an advantage to him.

The moment the news was delivered, Saunders knew that they were to be bait. He had studied military history before and he recalled how brilliant generals lured their enemies into a trap and then devoured them in a single swoop. Suddenly, Tim began to feel an uneasiness inside of him. This could very well be the turning point of the war and Saunders was too nervous to be fighting. Slowly, he walked back to his sleeping area and lied down until the uneasiness passed.

All around him soldiers were busy checking equipment and preparing for the departure. Many were testing the artillery cannons that were just shipped in a few hours ago. As the artillery cannons came online, the warehouse was filled with a low hum. Most of the soldiers became silent as they watched the gigantic hulks of titanium begin to move around. After roaming aimlessly for a few minutes, the artillery cannons were ordered to regroup outside. Eventually the hums from the power reactors dissipated and the warehouse was restored to an ominous silence.

Saunders did not see or hear the artillery cannons. He was still engrossed in the plan of the battle. Perhaps General Simpson and General Murphy were planning to lure Klitchko into the city and block the entrance. Or maybe they were last minute reinforcements. He tossed ideas around in his head until he could not think anymore. Although he did not know the plan exactly, he did know that his brains would be his only weapon if he were to survive this ordeal. The rest of the day went by uneventfully except for the occasional equipment failures and explosions of unstable plasma weapons.

The next morning revealed a crimson sunrise that blanketed the barren lands on the outskirts of New Chicago. Through the haze and scorching heat, small animals could be seen dashing to and from their holes. What used to be a forested area was turned into a fruitless desert by mass deforestation. Private Saunders stood outside the warehouse and gazed off into the distance. Humans never really thought of the consequences to their actions, and when they finally realized their effects, the humans would just move on to commit more heinous acts. He walked back inside to his makeshift living area and began to write. It was the only way he knew to express his anger, sadness, joy and desperation. Suddenly, just as he began to put pen to paper, a deafening alarm sounded.

"Lord save us," Saunders whispered as he grabbed his pack and ran to his squadron location. The battle for New Chicago had commenced and the soldiers of the English and American armies would never be able to prepare themselves for the immanent fight.

As the Chinook lifted off the ground, its propellers pushed off the sand, creating a miniature tornado of dust. Inside, the scene was just as chaotic. Soldiers were getting into their seats and securing heavy equipment. Soon, everyone was settled and the mood changed drastically into silent anticipation. No more were the excited visages that each warrior wore. The battle of their life was only a Chinook flight away and not one of them was looking forward to it. Feeling just the same as the others, Timothy looked out his window again. There wasn't anything special about this land, nothing that made it deserve a battle upon it. He wondered if each thing and person was destined to everything and that each action and thought was dictated by fate. If this was so, he thought, then his survival in the fight for New Chicago was already determined. Yet he wouldn't, he couldn't accept his fate. The will to survive suddenly surged into Timothy, like a wave crashing upon the coastline. There was no fate. There was no fate except what we made of it.


	4. Confrontation

_Author's Notes: I'm truly sorry for the long wait, but life has gotten the best of me lately. This chapter isn't too long but it does provide some very good suspense to the battle._

_Remember, I'm open to all suggestions and thanks to all who reviewed!_

_Chapter 4 estimated release: Christmas 2004_

The Klitchko War: Battle for New Chicago Chapter 3

Saunders stood patiently with his squadron outside the Chinooks, awaiting deployment. Even though the alarm had sounded for the troops to prepare for battle, the Klitchko army was still 150 miles away. Soon however, each troop's earpiece sounded and the general gave orders to the platoon leaders. Each platoon had been assigned a sector to guard but the troops weren't evenly spread out. Most of the soldiers were positioned around the eastern walls, while the last four were placed inside the city. Unlike Saunders, the platoon leaders weren't as bright. Confusion soon arose among them, many questioning the general's plan. However, just as quick as it had started, the chatter was silenced by the general as he gave a succinct reprimand to obey all orders.

Moments after receiving the commands, Timothy and the seventh ground were transported inside the city by light-armored artillery. As the small tanks began to slow, Saunders saw what was to be their makeshift base of operations. From the outside, it seemed as thought the rickety building were to fall apart any minute. The 2600 bombings had devastated the city and this "base of operations" seemed to be at the center of it. However, as the troops cautiously entered their humble abode, they noticed that the inside was a lot more intact than they had expected. "Alright gentlemen," Lieutenant Hope sighed as he placed a heavy bag of equipment on the floor to rest, "this used to be a shelter built by the government way back in the 2500s. No one knows about it except us so if we get pinned down, just come back here for shelter. When the Soviets come here, they'll rape us so bad that the sex will be consensual. Get your unmolested asses back here if you see any Klitchko scumbag and we'll deal with em in here. " The platoon let out a quiet snicker but everyone silently that if they were to lose the battle in New Chicago, this was the only place to go.

In a single file line, the soldiers were lead through a locked door and down a long set of stairs. Below, more security hindered the group. In order to be readmitted into the shelter, each soldier was required to enter his retina scan into the database. As Saunders awaited his turn, he noticed several protrusions out of the ground which looked like spikes. But before he could closely examine anything clearly, it was his turn to provide his retinal scan. He placed his chin on the stump and looked forward with his ashen eyes. The navy blue screen flashed once, temporarily blinding the young private. A beep signaled a successful scan and Timothy moved on into the next room. While he walked, Timothy tried to look for the protrusions again, but they had disappeared. Whatever the thing was, it must have been some kind of security measure. Without a second glance, he jogged through the blast door tunnels carrying a heavy load of equipment.

After ten minutes had past, the last of the soldiers passed through the titanium threshold and began to make themselves at home. Each soldier had the luxury of having a small 10x 10 foot room that they shared with another person. These small dormitories were placed in the back of the complex while the battle room was directly connected to the blast door tunnels. There were still 45 minutes left until preparation time so Saunders strolled out of his room and went to tour the rest of the complex. The whole structure was over 100 years old and the walls were stained with yellowish rust. However, the young private felt safe and at home within these sturdy walls. Turning aside from the walls, Saunders noticed the vast array of electronic equipment that was blanketed with dust. All of a sudden, the machines began to light up and emit beeping signals of acknowledgement.

Being of the Amish descent that migrated to the British Isles, Timothy was never exposed to the intricacies of electricity and advanced technology. Yet, he was now as curious as ever to how electricity worked. As an engineer went and sat down at the computers, Saunders interrupted him. "I'm sorry sir, but can you tell me what this is and how it works?" Saunders inquired.

"O, well this whole room is a communications beacon which routes any and all military chatter. So if the general is sending a message to his lieutenant, we can hear them. Also, if we're lucky enough, we can pick up enemy chatter as well, but that takes time to decode, not that you would know any of this," the engineer responded haughtily. Saunders didn't know any of it and he had barely understood what his comrade said but if the army could listen in on Klitchko, it would be an enormous asset. Timothy gazed at the instruments for another ten minutes and left for his room.

As Timothy was preparing for battle, the rest of the army outside of the walls was already stationed in a underground tunnel network. As the US continually battled terrorists near and abroad, strategists learned from the quick and aggressive methods that their opponents used. From the abandoned cities and battlegrounds, the armies were able to imitate and even improve the terrorist tunnel network. Soon, technology had allowed mobile digging devices that created a vast system within two hours. These effective transportation routes allowed soldiers to walk strait up in a single file line and provided safety as well as secrecy.

"Captain, where are you with that tracking satellite?" the general inquired.

"Sir, the Klitchko army is only 20 miles from the gates!" Captain Young exclaimed. The battle was drawing near.

"Wait… What the hell? Sir, they've completely disappeared from the satellite imagery!" All in instant, things had gone awry. Without their satellite scanning, the army was virtually blind.

"What in God's name is going on Young? This isn't the time to be joshin' around son!"

"Sir, I wasn't kidding. Our satellites have been disabled. Klitchko must have a scrambling device", Young explained as quickly as possible.

"Aww hell! You mean to tell me that son of a bitch has some fancy gadget to make him invisible? Dammit Young, you sure are givin' me some wonderful news!" The sarcastic General Simpson immediately spat out orders to setup scouts and beacons. The 11th Infantry hastily exited the tunnels and dispersed in all directions around the city.

Only being 20 miles away, the Klitchko could arrive within 20 minutes. The scouts had to get in position fast and plant the beacons. The general paced around the narrow halls of the main operation room in the elaborately built tunnel network. The tension and anticipation preoccupied him as he disregarded the damp smell and pieces of dirt that fell onto his broad shoulders. Within minutes however, the first scout reported in. "Sir, a beacon has been placed in Northeast Sector." The voice over his headset came like an answer to his prayers, but there were still three beacons left. Would they make it in time?

"Southeast Sector beacon is in place," another reassuring voice confirmed. After the second radio conformation, General Simpson asked for any signs of the enemy. The answer came in a dry and uneasy "no". Both the general and Captain Young grew anxious. There were still two more beacons that needed to be placed and time was running out.

"Southwest Sector beacon is in place!"

"Northwest Sector beacon is in place!" The two radio messages came in quick succession and removed a large burden from the commander's shoulders. However, they were just beginning. Immediately, the captain spotted enemy troops in the Southwest Sector. Simpson opened his holographic HUD and surveyed the situation. To his surprise, the general only saw a small amount of troops. The rest of the army was nowhere to be seen.

"Young where are the rest of them?" Not being able to account for 95 percent of his opposition was a dangerous situation to be in and the helpless general had no one else to turn to.

"Sir, they might have a tunnel system of their own, although it's highly unlikely. However, I don't suggest that we attack. Klitchko is a smart man and this could be a trap."

"That is true Captain, but if he is that smart, he knows we would never fall for a trap like that," the general responded cleverly, "Attack would be too dangerous, but I believe that we can fish them out with a deadlier weapon than guns." Both men understood each other. The captain called in the air reserve.

"Air force squadron one, come in Air force squadron one."

"I'm here Captain," a mechanical voice answered.

"Drop full load at given destination, code Delta Alpha Victor India Delta."

"Copy that Captain. Response code Charlie Hotel Echo November." The general immediately saw three green circles on his holographic HUD moving rapidly to the enemy's location. As they flew past the US tunnels, soldiers could hear the incredible roars of the supersonic bombers. Like lions to their prey, these jets bounded toward their bombing site. Within two minutes, the planes had passed over the enemy location.

"What's your status Squadron One?" The captain's query came anxiously.

"The goods have been delivered sir!" Both the captain and Simpson breathed a sigh of relief as the enemy dots disappeared. However, the general knew that there were more troops hidden or on their way. A search and destroy operation was his only choice. Simpson whispered something to the captain and headed back to his chambers.

"Alright Lieutenants, the commander has ordered a Search and Destroy operation. We'll need to employ full force on this one since we don't' know where the Soviets could be," Captain Young radioed in to the others. Soon, the tunnels were evacuated and entirety of the army began to move around the city to the southwest corner via light artillery. As the transport vehicles moved, they created a storm of dust that virtually concealed them from enemy reconnaissance. The "Wolf Pack" as the formation was called, rumbled along the barren land with great speed and power. The trip around the city took no longer than 20 minutes but the apprehensions of the enemies popping up at any instant made the trip seem like an eternity.

At last the army arrived near the previous enemy location. As if on cue, 100 doors opened and each soldier stepped out cautiously with their rifles at the ready. Yet, there were no signs of the Klitchkos except for the left over supplies and dead bodies from the bombing a few minutes before. With a wave of a hand, the soldiers advanced as a single unit, their feet touching the dirt at exactly the same time that each other soldier placed their foot. Suddenly, Young ordered the group to halt; the air was still drenched with a foreboding silence. The army started again and marched with a keener alertness.

Within 30 meters from the closest body, Captain Young halted again. His piercing eyes combed the area for anything strange. If he led the whole army into a trap, the battle would be over. As his amber pupils scanned past a dead body, he noticed movement. The charred body 100 meters away had moved its stomach! They were still alive!

"Fire upon the dead bodies!" Young screamed. At that moment, the ground just in front of the vanguard collapsed and 30 Soviet soldiers sprang up, all armed with parasite rifles. The front line, being horribly surprised, stumbled backwards and failed to shoot in time. They were immediately brought down by the parasite rifles. Others just behind them saw the horrifying seen as the parasites fired by the Klitchko ate away at the flesh, leaving only blood and torn tissue. Still, there were too many soldiers and only 30 Klitchko resistance fighters. They were soon taken out along with the "dead" bodies. Before taking care of the wounded, Young made a cursory search of the environs to make sure that everything was safe. He then rushed to the nearest casualty and assessed the situation.

The initial confrontation seemed to have been over but the task of hauling off the dead was a grievous one. Parasitic bullets killed their target slowly and painfully, knawing away at the skin and bones. Some who were shot hand not died instantly but were crying out in pain. With a whole lower body missing however, there was nothing the medics could do at the moment. The sight of such a bloody mess left many warriors disheartened and uneager to fight. Eager or not, the soldiers had to fight once again as they saw a storm of dust moving rapidly towards them.

"Alright men, I want you to stick near the walls and if things get too rough, retreat back to the city!" Every man heard the orders of their captain through their earpiece. With the wave of a hand, the soldiers charged toward the Klitchko army all the while keeping near the city. The air was hot and the rotten stench of their fallen comrades permeated through the ranks. Yet, the soldiers rushed on like a wave crashing towards the shoreline.

Behind the ranks of the soldiers, the first shots of battle were fired as a salvo of concentrated plasma arched through the air. Three seconds later, the opposing army exploded with a radiance of bright orange. The Klitchko however, did not even flinch as the plasma shells flew over their heads and incinerated anyone behind them. Each Soviet soldier concentrated on the enemy ahead as they jogged and trampled past dead comrades. There would be a time to lament, but that time was not now. With each wave of plasma fire, the Klitchko moved closer and closer to their enemy.

Only a few thousand yards away, Captain Young was leading his army toward the Klitchko forces. Some soldiers were already shell-shocked and dazed while others were battle fatigued. Riding on an artillery cannon, Captain Young knew the disheartened warriors below him would be hard to lead. The challenge that rose before him could mean the difference between liberty and occupation. These thoughts plagued the captain's mind as both armies drew closer.

"Halt!" The captain shouted into the communicator after several more seconds of marching. The mass of beige armor slowed to a halt just before the city walls ended. "I want snipers on top of the walls and artillery cannons near the back. Keep firing those guns to keep them suppressed. The rest of you, take the sand bags from the transport vehicles and make a barrier. Make sure to stay near the walls." His orders were short and brief, but his troops understood. There could be no organized plan against the Klitchko.

Within five minutes, American troops were already in position, lying in wait for the enemy. Their demeanor was solemn and the only sounds of battle were the low rumbles of plasma as they streamed over the soldiers' heads. Even Captain Young, a usually enthusiastic commander, looked on without a word. What he saw made his stomach convulse. Each soldier's visage showed one of exhaustion and hopelessness as they waited in the scorching heat. Yet, the enemy drew closer with every passing second; there would be no time to worry about his troops.

"Sir, I've spotted the first of the Klitchko ranks, they are in range for sniper fire!" The sound of a soldier broke Young's concentration.

"Fire at will Sergeant Johnson, target the riflemen first," Young's orders were clear and stoic, showing no signs of hesitation. He knew that if he were to lead a group of rag-tag soldiers, he would have to do so with decisiveness and speed. Soon after the captain gave the orders to shoot, a line of concentrated plasma streamed through the air, leaving behind a thin line of white smoke. These combined with the heavy artillery fire took down many enemy troops. However, the waves of plasma could not stop the determined Klitchko. They continued to hasten toward the allied armies with no signs of slowing or fear.


	5. Search and Rescue

The Klitchko War: Battle for New Chicago Chapter 4

All of a sudden, someone beside captain Young was blown backward by gunfire. Both armies were now in range. "All troops fire at will! Snipers, take out those buggies before they detonate!" This was the moment for Young to change history, and he was not about to let it escape his grasp. Young and his comrades near him lay flat on their stomachs and continued to shoot toward the dangerously close Soviet soldiers. The captain was an excellent marksman but for every Klitchko he shot down, three more took its place. There were just too many of them to hold off. Within ten minutes, Young had emptied all the ammo in his pack.

"Vargas, stay here and take care of the troops, I need to get some more ammo!" Young shouted to a soldier beside him. But before Lieutenant Vargas could even answer, he was blown backwards by a parasitic bullet, the only signs of his face being two eye sockets. The captain quickly turned away in disgust. The site of his comrade's face was too gruesome even for a commander. Slowly, Young turned his head to face Vargas' dead body. The carcass which had already began to smell revealed a red mess with two holes where eyes should have been. Young slowly eased the rifle from the cadaver and detached the ammo clips from Vargas' belt. Although his ammo had been replenished, the captain would rather have trekked back to the supply area than witness a fellow soldier die. He mournfully stood back up and headed for the shallow trenches, his boots and hands stained with blood. Still, Vargas was not the only casualty of battle. As the captain looked around, he saw others who had been grotesquely mutated by the Klitchkos' horrific weapons. The commander quickly moved on without glancing twice at the dead corpses, hoping that he would not join them in battle. As he got closer to the makeshift trench, the frequent whizzing of bullets forced him to crawl on the bloodstained grounds. "I need some cover Private!" Young shouted toward the nearest soldier. He obediently nodded and fired several bursts toward the enemy. At last, Young reached the trench and radioed in to his subordinate commanders for a status report.

"Sir, my whole division has been killed. Those sons of bitches detonated a buggy write next to us," a lieutenant reported. The situation seemed grim as Young received report after report of mounting casualties. Feeling hopeless, Young was just about to head toward the latest distress signal when a red light flickered on his HUD. The light soon expanded to show a picture of a young soldier by the name of Lieutenant Jeffery Daniels.

"Sir, my division needs assistance. The Klitchko have blasted through the city wall and are most likely en route to the communication beacons. Sir, requesting back-up now." Young knew his army was fighting a losing battle, but his primal instincts enjoined him to keep fighting. He relegated his pessimistic thoughts and turned his attention to the most recent problem.

"Backup is arriving shortly Lieutenant, hold your ground as long as possible,"

"Copy that sir," The voice transmission stopped abruptly. Knowing that troops usually signaled at the end of a transmission, Captain Young immediately sensed something wrong. Feeling a greater sense of urgency, the commander began to shout at the closest soldier next to him, trying to get his attention. Only when he saw the broken microphone dangling from the helmet on a dead soldier did he realize that he was still wearing his communication headset. He silently berated himself for being so inept and quickly turned on his headset to rally others to him. Contrary to his last attempt to gain attention, four soldiers immediately responded and gathered around him. Five people would be hardly enough to stop a platoon, let alone a whole army. Yet, time was short and Young feared that Daniels was already dead.

After giving his small special operations group a hasty briefing, the group spread out to collect supplies from their dead comrades, all the while avoiding the sprays of enemy fire. Young was fortunate enough to still have most of his grenades and only needed a few extra clips for his standard issue rifle. Finding equipment proved to be fairly easy since much of the army was lying on the sand, missing an appendage. Although finding ammunition and grenades seemed was an easy task, retrieving the items was a gruesome ordeal. The captain and his four other squad mates were forced to look upon the ghastly carcasses that littered the ground, even moving them when necessary.

Young picked through several cadavers before he was reminded of time. He picked up his last clip of 11mm plasma bullets and called the others through his headset, remembering his previous folly. The captain knew that every second mattered in a situation of life and death, so as to make-up for the time he spent foraging for equipment, he sprinted towards the city walls. Near the large gates of the city, the commander again rendezvoused with his makeshift squad. Each took a few seconds to snap their ammo snugly into their rifles and quickly proceeded into the city.

"Alright kids, I want all rifles at the ready. You never know when the Soviets will pop up," Young ordered, unaware that all of his squad mates were at least five years his senior. None the less, his troops responded with a surprising "yes, sir!" The captain slowly turned around to inspect his team. He soon realized that all four of them, Sergeant Smith, Private Reyes, Warrant Officer Price, and Corporal Brown were top of their class. These men were actual soldiers, well trained, determined, and the only ones who were reckless enough to accept a useless mission as this. His team looked back at him and nodded. Young was suddenly relieved to be facing the odds against the Klitchko. He knew that his subordinates would follow his every command to the death and without question. This was the army he was meant to lead.

With another nod from the captain, the elite five moved quickly toward the missing Lieutenant Daniels. The passage through the city was not as easy as Young had expected. Recent combat in the now desolate city had littered carcasses and rubble in front of them.

After several minutes of stealthily walking near cover, the team reached the building where Daniels was last located. The HUD flashed a red "x" and signaled the arrival of the destination. Immediately, the team sprang into action as if on cue. Young's experienced team members needed no lessons on breaching a building. Four of the five squeezed themselves onto the wall while Reyes kicked the door down. He instinctively moved out of the way and the others fired several blind shots into the doorway.

"Secure, Sir!" Reyes reported.

"Alright, Brown and I have left. Smith and Price take the right," Young ordered. The team sprang into action and suddenly filled the doorway, two facing the left hallway and two facing the right hallway. A dead silence followed as each person took time to analyze his surroundings. The dark hallway stretched on several yards in both directions with doors every few feet. Through the stagnant air, Young read "Sylvester Hotels". He silently motioned toward the sign and his squad understood why there were so many rooms.

The team soon moved out of the open doorway and followed their leader down the right hall to Daniels' exact location. The stagnant air that filled the hotel made everyone's breath short and they soon had to stop near a corner. All of them would need to take a rest every few yards if these air conditions persisted. Just as the very fingers of doubt were taking another grasp on them, Corporal Brown reached into his pack and pulled out several air purifiers. The squad silently accepted the small nose plugs without a sound of relief, but they all knew that they had narrowly avoided their first complication. Young and the others hastily stuffed a purifier into each nostril and inhaled some much needed fresh air.

The five soldiers continued to move through the dilapidated hotel cautiously, each one covering the other's blind spots. The team soon approached Daniel's exact location. Peering past a corner, Captain Young could see a long, dark hall with only one door at the end. He made a subtle gesture for the others to move forward and stood ready with his gun barrel pointed directly at the door. When all of his squad mates had reached the hall safely, he also moved towards the door without a sound.

"Reyes, cover our backs," Young whispered to the private. He immediately acknowledged the order and raised his rifle. Making sure that no one was behind him, the captain reached behind and unfastened a thin, black tube. He slowly slipped the tube underneath the door and quietly pressed a button on his helmet. His HUD immediately filled with light and a slightly distorted video feed appeared. Through the tube, the captain saw a dark room with only a poster bed and a window. While still looking at his HUD, Young shifted the tube a few degrees. Suddenly, he withdrew the tube and put two fingers to his mouth, the rest of his body extremely tense. Two Klitchko guards were resting on the other side of the room, completely unaware that five experienced soldiers were about to kill them. The team prepared to breach and enter, this time with hostiles on the other side. Adrenaline coursed through each soldier, giving them the energy they needed to do something this dangerous.

In an instant, the half sleeping guards were jolted awake by the sound of the crashing door followed by the ominous roll of a grenade. Before the Klitchko soldiers could even react, they were blinded by a piercing light and fell backwards with a scream. The grey concrete floor was soon stained with blood as the Soviet guards met their last moments. The surprise attackers quietly slipped into the room as if nothing had happened a minute before.

Young moved around the room, searching for any signs of the missing Daniels. Just as he was bending down to look under the bed, Corporal Brown interrupted his search.

"Daniels is dead sir," Brown reported as he let the unconscious soldier fall limp. The late Daniels lay half leaning against the wall, his right leg missing. "Cause of death, loss of blood sir." Captain Young let out an exasperated sigh and looked up towards the ceiling half expecting an answer. As the leader of any group, it was his responsibility for the ones who perished under his command. After a few moments of silence, the disheartened team began to compose themselves. Although they had lost a loyal lieutenant, the battle was not over. Each soldier took this brief intermission and checked their equipment. Young's HUD indicated that his rifle and back pistol were still full with ammo. As he waited for the others to reload and put on silencers, the captain recalled his earlier at West Point. The teachers there had taught him to think as a commander, not like the scrawny grandmother waiting back in Britain for her late grandson. His mouth slowly spread into a slight grin, the first smile he'd had in a few weeks.

Knocked out of his pleasant memories by the _click_ of several ammo clips, Captain Young looked towards his soldiers as a commander.

"As it appears, the Klitchko still haven't been able to disable our communications," the captain tapped his headset one more time to check, "but if anyone knows them, they will break in soon. Let's evacuate this hotel and intercept to Klitchko before they take control." The four others nodded and immediately crouched into position, heading out the door. However, before they could even turn the next hallway, loud footsteps could be heard coming down the stairs. Each soldier readied their guns instinctively and stood motionless with five barrels pointed toward the stairs. The foreboding steps slowly grew louder and louder, like an oncoming train. Suddenly, a grenade rolled down the steps, hitting each concrete slab with a baleful _ping_. Before the grenade hit the last step, the dismayed team of special operations soldiers dove behind the corner. Suddenly, the walls in front of them splintered into bits and flew toward them accompanied by the deafening roar in the background. The captain was blown several feet backwards and hit the opposite wall with a painful thud. Knowing that enemies would follow the attack, Young immediately sprang up, ignoring his stomach pains. He shouted into the headset for the others to get back into the room and bolted toward the door himself. Several seconds later, three battered soldiers collapsed in the doorway, all groaning from injuries. Young quickly pushed the door closed just as the three crawled through.

Outside the room, there was a dead silence. The once foreboding footsteps now seemed like a figment of their imagination. However, just as the injured bodies relaxed their grips on their rifles, a loud knock came from the other side. The door rattled a bit and small particles of dust floated to the ground. Another knock, this time even stronger reminded them that time was running out. Young looked around the room frantically for anything that would be of any use. All of a sudden, his gaze fell on the small window hanging just above the bed. The others looked toward the window too. Young and the others stood straight and ran for the cramped window just as another loud knock collided with the weakening door. With the butt of his rifle, Warrant Officer Price slammed the glass. The fragile shards broke off easily and the four jumped out onto the firm ground. Behind them, the doors gave way and several green uniforms ran inside. Young and the others ducked underneath the window and raised their rifles, firing blindly into the small room. After unloading a full clip each, the wary soldiers slowly rose and peered into the window. Five Klitchko soldiers lay lifeless at the entrance of the door, their limp bodies stacked on top of each other. Around them, the walls were riddled with bullet holes. Temporarily relieved, the team moved toward the center of the city all the while staying alert. Another close encounter might kill a much needed team member.

Suddenly, Young looked backwards toward his team. There were only three pairs of eyes looking intently back at him. After a few seconds of silence, the rest realized what had happened. In the chaos of battle, Private Reyes had been left behind. Thoughts reeled through the captain's mind as he tried to remember the last time he saw the private. With a myriad of thoughts still running through his mind, Young doubled back and ran for the crumbling hotel. The usually proud commander bowed his head down in shame, focusing his eyes on the dry dust that blanketed the ground. Suddenly, a drop of water fell to the ground and the captain stopped. Soon the taste of salt overwhelmed Young. With his back still toward his comrades, the captain forcefully swallowed his frustration, wiped the dirty tears form his eyes, and walked back toward his team. The rest of the team sympathized with their commander's emotions and followed him without any question.

The streets that the team traversed through were narrow and curved like the serpentine body of a snake. This along with the hundreds of windows facing the streets forced the weary travelers to shake off any symptoms of fatigue and scan each window for hostile contacts. After several hours of sneaking around the dilapidated city, the quartet had only put four miles between themselves and the hotel. Young knew his soldiers were wearing thin as he sat down inside a doorway to rub his punished thighs. The others followed him inside the drab building and sat near the door to rest. However, just as they were beginning to slip into a state of complacency, they heard distant shouts of Russian. Each soldier immediately snapped out of the aimless thoughts that wandered their minds and knelt down in a battle ready position.

"Проклятые американцы, Когда я нахожу один, я разорву их обособленно непосредственно!" The sounds of Russian curses advanced slowly, giving Young and his team plenty of time to prepare. From the casual tone of the conversation, it seemed that the Klitchko guards were unaware of the American presence inside the city. The prediction meant two things: either the Klitchko had already exterminated the bait, or they hadn't found them yet. A quick check from his HUD disproved his former theory and showed that all communications networks were online. When he returned his attention to the advancing footsteps, he realized that they had gotten surprisingly louder. The Soviets must be around the corner. With a gesture from his hand, he ordered the rest of his team to cover him. Then, without warning, the young commander jumped from cover and ran into the middle of the street, scanning for the oblivious guards. To his dismay, the Soviets were nowhere to be seen. Confused, Young looked toward Smith, Price, and Brown. The three subordinates looked at him confused as well. Suddenly, the two Klitchko guards sprang up from a row of garbage containers and quickly sprayed the team with piercing rounds. Luckily, the captain saw the attackers out of the corner of his eye and jumped behind a building. The concrete wall next to him was shredded into thousands of pieces as the unrelenting metal continued to pelt it.

"Brown, Smith, give me some covering fire! Price, get a grenade in there!" The captain shouted into his headset, not realizing that it was only a few inches away from his mouth. He expected gun shots from across the street and a resounding explosion, but nothing happened. Five seconds later, still no response. "Shit," the commander cursed under his loud breaths as he read the HUD display. A red signal flickered on the thin screen, indicating that communications networks were down.

Young stood still, leaning against the wall. After a few seconds, his breathing had died down, but he still didn't move. The persistent "communication failure" signal continued to flash in front of the petrified captain. He waited for another five seconds and heard the horrific gunshots that had occupied his mind for the past minutes. Young winced, knowing that his fellow soldiers had just been executed.

As the exhausted captain leaned against the wall, a deep sense of helplessness overwhelmed him. Everyone in the military that he cared for had been brutally murdered, leaving him to suffer the gruesome casualties of war. The captain slowly eased himself onto the ground and felt the energy being sapped from his body. Unaware of the footsteps that were fast approaching, the sleep deprived man fell into a restless slumber.


End file.
